


Practicalities

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Arguments, Cannibalism, Established Relationship, Fingering, First Time, Fluff, Honeymoon, M/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: "You brought your ex-wife on our honeymoon, Hannibal.”“You make it sound much more scandalous than it is, Will, you’re overreacting.”Will didn't imagine his honeymoon would include Hannibal's ex-wife following them around Europe as a source of fresh meat, but here they were.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 37
Kudos: 438
Collections: Hannigram Kinkmeme





	Practicalities

“I can’t believe you,” Will muttered, drawing a hand through his hair. 

The flight had been comfortable, first class, and Will had slept most of the way. Their arrival to Europe had been planned and much anticipated by him and Hannibal both. They had  _ married _ , for God’s sake. Italy was the start of their honeymoon. And -

“Bedelia is here simply in a practical capacity.”

“Practical?” Will repeated. “ _ Practical _ , Hannibal? What capacity could possibly be  _ practical _ ? I thought we had  _ practical _ down to an art.”

“I detest frozen meals,” Hannibal said stiffly, “Meat keeps longer when it is still living.”

Will leaned back against the glass doors to the balcony, watching with a childish glee as Hannibal flinched at the fingerprints he left. “This isn’t about  _ practicality,” _ he accused, “This is  _ emotional _ .”

“I always keep my promises, Will.”

“You and your  _ promises _ .” Will rolled his eyes and pressed his hand flatter to the glass. Let Hannibal deal with the smudge later while  _ Will _ relaxed in the (admittedly gorgeous) bathroom off the Master bedroom. “You promised to show me Europe, I remember that.”

“And I will. Bedelia will need her rest during the day, which leaves the two of us free to-”

“To  _ what?” _ Will asked icily, “To traipse about your favorite museums and come home in the evening to the very thin wall between our bedroom and the guest room? You brought your  _ ex-wife _ on our  _ honeymoon _ , Hannibal.”

“You make it sound much more scandalous than it is, Will, you’re overreacting.”

Will blinked at him before crossing his arms over his chest and stepping nearer. “I’m overreacting.”

“I think so, yes. It is merely groceries. Fresh food. Practicalities.”

Will’s lips pushed up in a shrug, and he raised his eyes to meet Hannibal’s. “No, no I understand. It’s just practical to slowly murder your ex-psychiatrist and ex-spouse, in public, across Europe. Will you take me through Asia when you’re done with me too?”

“Will.”

“No, I think you're right, I think what’s best,” Will stepped up and pressed his hand to Hannibal’s chest. “Is that you keep a watchful eye over all our practicalities. Seems only fair. I, on the other hand, am going to take a well-deserved bath, and then jerk off in bed, alone, while you babysit dinner.”

“Will.”

Since Will was not responsible for practicalities, it was perfectly reasonable for him to flip Hannibal off as he disappeared into the master bedroom. The lock probably wouldn’t do him any good if Hannibal  _ really  _ wanted to get in, but Will made a point of locking it anyway.

They’d traveled separately to avoid discovery, and Will’s route had been circuitous and lengthy, despite his pleasant accommodations. Clearly, that had been enough time for Hannibal to fly the direct route with Bedelia and  _ cut off her damn leg _ . She was heavily sedated in the guest bedroom, on the other side of a  _ very _ thin wall, and Will was alone, without his husband, on their first full night together since they’d wed hastily in Argentina. They hadn’t even been  _ intimate  _ yet… 

Well, no, they’d been intimate for several years now. But they hadn’t had  _ sex _ , except for some fumbling hands and mouths in the hotel in Argentina before they’d both passed out. There hadn’t been any actual orgasms.

And there wouldn’t be, not with Bedelia in earshot and Will spitting mad. He stayed in their quarters until Hannibal called hesitantly for dinner, and the bath did nothing to quell Will’s temper.

Will dressed deliberately for a fancy meal. If he had to face a woman he had never been a particular fan of, he was going to show her up in any way he possibly could. The suit fit him like a condom, Hannibal had made sure of it when he’d commissioned Will’s new clothes. Dark grey, blood red pin stripes. He’d even combed his hair, shaved carefully. He felt, in a word, fuckable.

When he saw Bedelia, however, he nearly choked on his own tongue.

Hannibal had dressed her - and he was certain it was Hannibal - in a slinky number far more appropriate for a speakeasy. He’d coiffed her hair, he’d done her makeup immaculately. She looked much more conscious than when Will had initially been told they’d be having her for dinner, but by the look of the wine level in her glass, it wouldn’t last long.

Will sighed, a deliberate huff through his nose.

“Bedelia.”

“Mr. Graham.” She replied, tone lazy. “Or is it Mr. Lecter, now?”

“It hardly matters. Whatever name is on our papers when we travel, we’ll share it.” In truth, Will had lost track. His memory was sharp, but not quite as much as Hannibal’s, and he’d gained and discarded four or five different identities since they’d run off together. Will had no idea which name they were using at the moment. 

“Bluebeard weds again,” Bedelia murmured, “I wonder when he’ll do to you what he’s done to all his wives.”

Will’s smile was more akin to a wolf baring its teeth. “We all have our scars, Bedelia. You’ll find he carries just as much of me as I do of him.”

“Will you walk into my parlor? Said the spider to the fly.”

She was far more coherent than he would have expected her to be, but Will had long grown used to being warned about Hannibal. There was no escaping the hooks Hannibal had caught him with, not at this point, and Will had no desire to.

Coming around the table, he saw that the split in her dress went all the way up her thigh, or what was left of it. He wondered if she was wearing panties and then wondered if he’d be more or less angry if she was. The less fumbling Hannibal had done, the better. 

“I told you meat was back on the menu,” he told her, settling into his seat, “you should have run faster.”

She just drained her glass, eyes delicately away. Will didn’t want to say anything more either. He, however, resolved to remain sober at the table. Unlike some.

When Hannibal approached, dressed to the nines, and set the main course before its source, Will allowed a smile. In the end, he had won the man, and he had won him not by wanting to catch him but by letting him kill him. That was worth more than a paltry fake marriage, surely.

He convinced himself it was. It absolutely was.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Bedelia murmured, holding her glass out for Hannibal to fill again. The doctor beamed. “It’s rather quite like the dinner you hosted that I refused to participate in.”

“Finally paying your dues, then,” Will muttered. She blinked at him, amused.

“He didn’t tell you? We had quite the guest. Very handsome. Wonderful company. Hannibal was quite taken with him.”

Will’s eyes flicked to Hannibal’s. His immediate thought was that it wasn’t important. Hannibal would have brought it up if it was. 

But Hannibal’s eyes avoided Will’s searching gaze. 

_ He’s embarrassed _ , Will realized. Which meant there was something to be embarrassed  _ about.  _

When he looked back, Bedelia was smiling into her wine. “He was a younger man,” she said, tilting her head as if staring back into a fond memory. “Slender and tall. Curly haired. More irreverent than Hannibal’s usual tastes.”

Not just a guest, then. A paltry shadow of Will, brought to  _ Will’s  _ place at the table. Will stared down at his plate. Hannibal had not yet attempted to serve any of them, as trapped in the moment as Will was, balanced on a knife’s edge, waiting for Will to say something. 

“He would have fucked the both of us, if I’d been up for it.” Bedelia’s voice brought the silence crashing down about their heads like shards of glass. “Hannibal was practically  _ giddy  _ to be so thoroughly propositioned.”

“Was he?” Will aimed for nonchalant, raising a brow at Bedelia before slipping his gaze to Hannibal, his displeasure palpable. “Poor thing. Must have been bored senseless after weeks of someone laying back and thinking of England.”

Hannibal cleared his throat and took up a knife to sharpen. 

Will reached to serve himself vegetables, ignoring Bedelia at his side. She could damn well get her own vegetables, if her own leg wasn’t good enough. Will hated that he’d lost his appetite somewhat; Hannibal’s cooking was always an event. He accepted a slice of meat with a hum, and snapped his napkin sharply before laying it on his lap.

When he set his hand to the table again it was in a curled fist.

He didn’t even have time to realize he should probably  _ not _ have his hands on the table at Hannibal’s goddamn dinner before Hannibal had reached out, inhuman in his speed, to catch Bedelia’s arm. She’d been close enough to stab quite successfully through Will’s hand between his first and second knuckle with a fork, if Hannibal hadn’t interceded.

“Must you?” He asked, tone resigned, exhausted.

Bedelia swayed slightly, a combination of liquid courage and drugged indifference. “If I’m to die in this apartment, I can at least leave my mark.”

Will balled his napkin back up and dropped it on his plate, giving the meal a look of disgust. He wanted no part of this woman in his body, her cells filtering into his own.

“Will-“

“I’m not hungry,” he snapped, turning his glare on Hannibal, “nor am I in the mood to play ‘pretentious reference trivia’ with the two of you. Work out your intellectual tension without me, thanks.”

Hannibal reached for Will as he passed, his fingers light and gentle over the pulse point at the inside of Will’s wrist. Will snatched his hand away, clutching it to his chest as if Hannibal might slip further into him through such small contact. 

He locked the door behind him again, but this time he slammed it first. 

Whether Hannibal and Bedelia actually ate dinner together, Will wasn’t sure, and he didn’t properly care. He was livid. They had spent months planning their escape, months healing after, and this,  _ this _ , was meant to be their beginning, their new life.

This was meant to be their  _ honeymoon _ .

He was meant to get  _ laid tonight _ .

Well, fuck him. Fuck  _ both _ of them. He’d get off on his own. Thinking of what should have happened tonight, imagining Hannibal stripping him of his clothes, perhaps catching his nails against his skin in his fervor.

Will tossed his clothes vindictively to the floor and fell into bed with a groan. He crawled backwards to the center of the bed and spread his legs open. Because were Hannibal  _ here _ , and not out in the main room flirting with the ex he was  _ eating _ , he would crawl between them and lay heavy over Will. He would catch Will’s chin with elegant fingers and hold him still to kiss him. He would touch, as Will touched now, down his chest and over his nipples, teasing them to a peak.

Hannibal would be exploratory. He would want to know every inch of Will, memorize each freckle. He would want to touch the  _ scars _ . 

Will’s fingertips trailed over the ripple of scar tissue across his belly. Hannibal would put his mouth here, tasting the place where life had once slipped between Will’s fingers. Will moaned softly, and then louder. Who cared if he was overheard? He hoped it ruined their appetites. 

Hannibal would want to be inside of him. He would want to slip so deeply into Will that they were no longer separate people. Will rolled onto his stomach to reach the lube, and found it gave him just enough friction when he thrust into his palm. 

“God,” he groaned, spilling lube onto the sheets as he slicked his free hand and reached behind himself. He’d done this before, but only rarely. And not at all recently. It was like the first time all over again when he pressed his finger in, too tight and too tense, but he was eager for it. 

Will bit the sheets hard and moaned his pleasure. Hannibal’s fingers would reach deeper, Hannibal’s fingers would curl harder, Hannibal’s fingers would stretch him for his cock, that Will had  _ seen _ , had  _ touched _ , had  _ ached for _ …

“God, Hannibal, please,” he whined, pressing himself back against his hand, down into the bed, eyes closed tight enough to not let the tears slip free that humiliatingly wanted to. This was meant to be his night, their night, but of course, of  _ course _ …

“Harder,” Will demanded, pushing himself onto his back, free hand down to stroke his cock as he continued to finger himself, teeth gritted, cheek pressed to the sheets. “Harder,  _ harder _ -”

He came with a groan, not long after, and felt far more disappointed than satisfied. He lay and stared at the ceiling for a few moments before pushing himself up to take a shower.

On the other side of the door, Hannibal dropped his head into his hands with a slow, exhausted sigh. Perhaps he would need to rethink his plans for breakfast, if he wanted to share a bed with his husband on their honeymoon. 

* * *

Hannibal brought Will breakfast in bed, because of course he had a spare key to the room. And Will, for all his sulking, found that he had missed him beyond words. He murmured Hannibal’s name and turned into the hand in his hair and the lips against his cheek.

“You’re a real dick, you know that,” Will told him, parting his lips for Hannibal’s kiss, snaking his arms around his shoulders and tugging him to bed. “This coffee better have been stolen from the gates of Hades itself.”

“I think I can do a bit better than Orpheus.” Hannibal pinned Will with his weight, tray abandoned to the nightstand. The sheet still lay between them, as well as the pajama pants Hannibal had slept in, but both were thin and Will could feel him hard against his thigh.

“No looking back?” Will murmured.

Hannibal cupped Will’s cheek in his hand, his eyes serious. “Everything I’ve left behind me pales in comparison to what lies before.”

“Flatterer,” Will accused, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. He thought, perhaps, a wedding  _ morning _ instead of a wedding night, but his stomach growled, and Hannibal took hunger far more seriously than anyone else Will had ever known. He insisted on propping Will up against a mountain of pillows, settling a tray over his lap. 

Hannibal had prepared a feast, as usual, excessive for one person early in the morning, or even two people, though Will was petty enough not to want to share. Fresh cut fruit, sausage, eggs, a crepe lightly drizzled in golden syrup. 

“What did you feed  _ Bedelia _ ?” Will asked, because he was  _ entirely _ that petty. Hannibal sighed.

“Enough,” he answered, and requested all at once. He kissed Will chastely on the lips and drew his thumb beneath Will’s eye until the other eased from his tension as well.

In the end, Will did share his breakfast, enjoying greatly the way Hannibal sucked syrup from his fingers and damn near fallated a piece of apple Will set between his teeth. It took everything in his power not to whine like a child when Hannibal coaxed Will out of bed instead of climbing into it with him.

“I promised to show you Europe,” he reminded him.

The day turned out to be perfect. Will, for all his gripes, was as curious about the history and architecture and art that Hannibal so adored. He understood immediately why Florence was Hannibal’s city. Will marveled at the Palazzo Vecchio, walked hand in hand with his husband - for the first time in his life, he noted to Hannibal, smugly - through the Piazza della Signoria after.

They enjoyed coffee and pastries in little hole-in-the-wall places that Hannibal had once frequented, they milled about between swarms of tourists and spoke of nothing at all, just enjoying the fact that they were together, and here,  _ finally _ .

By early evening, Will was ravenous, not even allowing Hannibal the freedom to unlock their door, instead distracting him with wandering hands and hot whispered promises against his throat. He ached for him, as he had for months and  _ months _ before this, and he was going to have him, goddammit, as soon as the man managed the door open.

They stumbled into the entryway, Hannibal kicking the door shut behind him and trying to coax them further down the hall, Will fumbling with buttons and shoving shirts to the floor. 

“A moment,” Hannibal whispered apologetically, pulling back to press a soft kiss to the corner of Will’s eye.

“No more minutes,” Will insisted, shoving Hannibal towards their bedroom. “There have been  _ years _ , Hannibal. No more waiting.”

Hannibal turned to back Will into the door, biting gently at his neck, teeth sharp and dangerous over the tendons. “I’m afraid I need to attend to our guest, just for a moment. The sedatives will have worn off.”

Will’s bitter irritation was not enough to stop him this time. “You keep her door locked, don’t you?”

“Of course-“

Will grinned, reaching behind him to fumble with the doorknob. He stumbled backwards into the bedroom, kicking shoes and socks aside until he was sprawled out on the carefully made bed in nothing but his slacks. He crawled back towards the headboard, one finger crooked to coax Hannibal along with him. 

For a moment, the doctor hesitated, and in that moment realized that were he to step out the door, Will wouldn’t let him back in again. And in the end, what did it matter if they were overheard? Bedelia was a meal, a victim of Hannibal’s petty revenge, nothing more. Will, on the other hand, was everything.

Hannibal toed off his shoes, a deliberately slow motion that he watched fill Will with trembling anticipation. And then he was on the bed quickly, crawling over Will and grasping his hair to tilt his head back, teeth finally fulfilling a promise they teased in the hallway and marking Will up as his own again.

God it had been so long since he’d left a mark, and the first time that they could wear each others without the need to hide them or themselves, ever again.

“I want you,” Will moaned, knees up around Hannibal as he arched for him, hands fumbling with Hannibal’s pants to get them open. “I want your mouth. I want your cock, Hannibal,  _ please _ -”

Hannibal growled, low and pleased and predatory, and rocked his hips into Will’s hands. It had been a shame, in Argentina, that both of them had had a bit too much to drink. Such a shame. But the heat between them then was boiling up again and nothing, not hell, not capture, not dinner next door, would stop this from happening now.

“Fuck me,” Will demanded, catching Hannibal’s face in both hands. His husband smiled.

“Oh, I will fuck you.” he promised.

The lube had ended up halfway across the room in Will’s frustration the night before, but it offered him an excellent view of his husband’s - his  _ husband’s -  _ ass when he had to go fetch it. Will took the opportunity to squirm out of his slacks and underwear, and when Hannibal turned back the look in his eyes made Will’s mouth water. 

There had been no first-time nerves the last time they’d made an attempt at this, because alcohol had dulled the fear. Now, they flooded Will’s being, almost as bad as they’d been at sixteen. What if it hurt? What if he did something wrong? What if afterwards Hannibal decided he really didn’t like Will that much anyway?

The last thought was absolutely ridiculous. Hannibal had loved Will through far worse. But it lingered anyway, and Will’s hands were trembling on Hannibal’s shoulders when he came to rest over him. 

Hannibal caught one of Will’s hands in his and placed a kiss to the thin skin of his wrist, catching it in a slow drag afterwards. Will shivered. 

“I love you, Will. I have you.”

Will groaned, pleased, and tucked his chin against his shoulder to look at Hannibal over him. Beautiful, dangerous, pretentious, marvellous man. And his own. Because Will had him too.

“Fingers,” Will told him, grinning when Hannibal made a soft noise in protest. “You can eat me out later, if you do it now I’ll come and I want to come on your cock.”

The sound of protest turned to a purr of need and Hannibal kissed him, deep and demanding and hot. They’d touched, Hannibal hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Will once this started, but they’d never had the time to actually fuck. Now they had all the time in the world, and once they rested, they would do it again, and again, in all manner of ways and in every possible place in the house.

Hannibal sat back and yanked Will down the bed against him, spreading his legs over Hannibal’s lap and making sure he could see as Hannibal slicked his fingers and dropped his hand to tease between Will’s legs.

“We will learn your limits together,” he promised, as Will squirmed against him, grin bright on his face. “Days and days just spent in bed, seeing how often I can make you come, how desperate you get if I just tease you…”

Will groaned, loud and low. He dug his heels into the bedding, spreading himself just a little bit wider for Hannibal’s exploration. 

There was nothing tentative about Hannibal’s touches. Where Will had been hesitant, Hannibal was eager, sliding one finger in slow and deep, pressing against Will’s walls, searching. When he brushed over a spot that made Will shudder, his grin was predatory. Will had no doubt that Hannibal would take him to pieces in the future, over and over again, but for now they were both impatient. 

Will had never gotten past two fingers on his own, and never as deep as Hannibal could go. When Hannibal slid another finger into him, curved perfectly to hit that spot, Will moaned and thrust back against him. 

“I wanted to take my time with you,” Hannibal confessed, “I had so many plans.”

Will could barely hear him over his own racing heart. He reached for Hannibal, pulling him down into a hungry kiss. “Next time,” he pleaded. “God, Hannibal, I can’t wait any longer.”

“I’ll have you limping in the morning,” Hannibal promised him, teasing a third finger in just enough to pull a whine from Will before freeing his fingers entirely and sitting back to look at him. He was remarkable, beautiful. Hannibal had been enamored of him since Will sat twitching and bitter in Jack’s office next to him, glasses cutting his vision in half. He’d been enamored of that mind he’d set on fire, he’d been enamored of the body he’d cruelly carved into.

Now, he could devour Will Graham to his heart’s content and feel himself peeled, vulnerable, for him.

“It would be more comfortable on your knees,” Hannibal suggested, Will slowly shook his head, eyes narrowed in pleasure.

“I want to look at you,” Will told him, grinning as Hannibal reached for the lube again to stroke slick over his cock. “I want to leave marks on you that won’t fade in the morning.”

Hannibal covered Will’s form easily, and Will wrapped his legs around him as he kept his hands to the bed by his head, watching Hannibal watch him. The initial penetration wasn’t unfamiliar, it was when the pressure grew, when Will could feel just how thick Hannibal was, pushing into him, that he groaned, shivering. He hissed in pain, just once, and caught hard against Hannibal’s arm when he slowed.

“Don’t,” he told him. “I want all of you.”

Hannibal kissed him gently, catching the next little whimper as he pressed forward again, until his hips were flush against Will. He stilled just for a moment, just to pull back and meet Will’s gaze, listen to his shuddering inhale. 

The retreat was nearly as difficult, a slow, steady slide that left Will feeling bereft.

Then Hannibal smiled, knowing and just a bit cruel, and snapped his hips forward. 

Will cried out, startled and overwhelmed. It was entirely too much all at once, and he wanted more of it. Hannibal was rough with him, giving Will all of him, all his love and all his violence. It was all Will could do to hold on, one hand fisted in the bedsheets, the other drawing red scratches down Hannibal’s back. 

Will had forgotten Bedelia entirely. His voice carried now because he couldn’t control it, sharp gasps and moans filling the room. 

He moaned for Hannibal because he wanted to, he wanted Hannibal to hear how desperate he was for him, how fucking good it felt when pain and pleasure melded together, how this was everything and more that Will had imagined for them.

His feet slipped to the bed and he pushed his toes into the sheets, arching himself higher. Hannibal tilted his chin up and kissed beneath it; hot, sloppy, claiming things that made Will keen in pleasure. He would be entirely fucked out after this, covered in bruises and bites and marks, and Hannibal the same. He would stumble on his way to the bathroom and Hannibal would grin, knowing he did that. He’d crawl back into bed and pin Hannibal down and suck more claims into his throat after.

“Fuck, Hannibal, more,” he sighed, biting his lip and jerking in pleasure when Hannibal dragged his cock against Will’s prostate, two thrusts teasing and slow before picking the rhythm up again.

Against Hannibal, Will was flushed and needy and demanding. He clawed and tugged and pushed up against him, spread wide and wanton, moaning in unashamed pleasure for anyone to hear. He was free. He was wild. He was entirely Hannibal’s own and he loved him. Hannibal slipped a hand between them to stroke Will’s aching cock, kissing the corner of his mouth when Will whined and squirmed beneath him.

“Come for me,” Hannibal breathed, turning his nose against Will’s hair to breathe him in in his entirety; his exhaustion and displeasure of the night before, his excitement and longing, his arousal and adoration. “Come on, Will.”

Will tensed around him, hands grasping at anything they could, up Hannibal’s back, tightening in his hair. They were as close as they could get when Will fell apart, body shaking, voice climbing higher and higher as he spilled hot over Hannibal’s hand, caught between their stomachs. 

Hannibal stroked him through every last aftershock, until his pleasure tipped over into pain, until his body tried to pull away even as Will himself continued to haul Hannibal closer. 

“Can’t,” Will gasped. 

“You will,” Hannibal assured him, “one day.” He let go, licking the mess from his hand with his eyes locked on Will’s. Will gave another helpless shudder. 

“God, Hannibal…”

Hannibal licked into Will’s mouth, sharing the taste and his own need as he rocked his hips once more into Will’s willing body. Will supposed that to anyone else, this would not be making love, but with them he couldn’t imagine anything better, anything more true to who they were to each other.

He kissed Hannibal hard, clung to his hair, and tensed his thighs to hold him closer, eyes on Hannibal’s hooded ones until he, too, lost himself to orgasm, his groan rumbling through Will’s chest and speeding his pulse even more.

They lay together shaking for a few moments, sweaty and messy and sore, and Will stretched his arms over his head with a low sound of pleasure before tilting his chin up with a smile.

“I don’t think you’ve done enough to make me limp,” he said, brow up as though to challenge Hannibal on his promise. His doctor just kissed him, hand cupping his chin, nuzzling against him after.

“I will.” he promised.

**Author's Note:**

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